


The Cracks in the Bulkhead

by goodnightfern



Series: The Extended MCU [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: AUs of my own Fan Fics, Chrollo-Typical Eye-Color-Based Fantasy Racism, Gen, Meteor City's Collectivist Culture and Suicide Bomber Cult, Mundane Depictions of Violence, Oito-Chrollo Sibling Theory, Vague Black Whale Shenanigans, What the Kurtas Took
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:08:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: Somewhere on the Black Whale, two medics and a terrorist sit down for a moment's respite.All Leorio has to do is keep his head above the water.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Leorio Paladiknight
Series: The Extended MCU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126208
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whoops, i did that thing wherein you open a draft on ao3 and accidentally post it. well, i have One Job to do, and that is fill up my cult city tag with oreopapi. i'm also now fully on the oito-kuro sibling theory train, that soap opera drama is addicting.

"What I don't understand," Chrollo muses, sniffing Leorio's empty noodle cup, "is why your little friend insists those eyes belong to _him._ "

Leorio gapes, unwilling to process whatever logic Chrollo's running on this time. How Leorio ended up slumped by the vending machine down the hall from his bunk room with two mass murderers by his side is still beyond him. It's only been a week since Chrollo Lucilfer - or rather, Wilcylfer - was let out of house arrest in room 1014. Sorry, not house arrest - _bonding with his long-lost sister._

It's only been five days since Chrollo privately expressed his concerns to Machi regarding the "expansive displays of a polluted collective" present on the first tier.

Only three since Machi correctly diagnosed the entire fourth-tier emergency ward and said, "Well, you never asked," when Cheadle went apocalyptic over why she didn't say anything until now.

Now: it's half past three in the morning, Leorio has learned more about combination nen than anyone in the entire Association does, and at least thirty-five out of two hundred patients have survived their own damn princes draining their nen.

All thanks to the deranged representatives of the terrorist cult at Leorio's side. 

Sometimes the gift horse has some bone-chilling teeth. Sometimes after a long shift you have a quick cup and a smoke with your coworkers. 

That's the only thing happening here. 

"I mean, he's in the mafia," Machi adds, draining her fortieth coffee can of the day. "The Nostrades have a history in the flesh collecting trade."

"Exactly. Even with that girl dead, how many of our people's parts has he traded in?"

"What in the -" Leorio swallows. Don't get mad. Keep a cool head. When Leorio gets emotional, he might punch a table or drink too much or rant. When Chrollo gets emotional there's a death count. "I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about, Chrollo."

Machi crumples her can and sends it clattering down the hall. "You're training to be a doctor. You will." 

Chrollo's discovered little scraps of noodles, a red singe of seasoning on salt. He scratches at the styrofoam, completely intent when he says, "And I guarantee that walking abomination knows as well. That being said, once that royal is dead we intend on bringing every lost shard home. I think eradicating the flesh trade entirely might be a good direction for the Spider, don't you think?" 

Machi snorts. "Let's get off this boat first, Boss. What is it, five princes down?"

"Six, considering my daughter -"

"Niece."

Machi gives Leorio a withering look. 

" _Daughter_ is flesh of my flesh, bound to our laws and thus incapable of binding her soul to some foreign dynasty. What we accept…"

"None may take," Machi finishes in unison.

Leorio isn't even going to get into whatever weird cult shit they're on now.

With a healthy crust of red-tinged styrofoam beneath his nail, Chrollo pops his finger in his mouth. He makes a pleased sound, pulls Leorio's fingers back, and Leorio gives up and lets him take it.

"Why do you…" he starts, and when they simultaneously snap their heads up to stare at him he almost chickens out. What do they say about showing weakness in front of a predator? "Don't get me wrong, getting rid of the flesh trade is… fantastic. A really, really good idea. But…why do you want..."

"Bullshit."

"He's just ignorant, Machi." Chrollo's nibbling the paper lid now. "Think for me, Leorio. Use that big brain of yours. Where does your world leave their castoffs? Those deemed unfit to survive? Your deformities, your disabled?"

"Don't forget the dead, Boss."

"I never do."

Machi doesn't smile, but her eyes narrow, nearly soften - they're having a moment. Making jokes. 

"Furthermore, ask yourself why," Chrollo continues, with obvious relish, "are these bits and pieces of your medical oddities so valuable? We used to be cheap, you know. High demand, ample supply. Ask your little friend about the history of the flesh trade. Ask him what happened when the mafia broke its connections to Meteor City."

With sudden violence he rips off a chunk of styrofoam and chews it. Swallows. Meets Leorio's eyes with a simmering aura, flicks of black boiling over. "He knows exactly what the Kurtas took from us, and I will sink every damned soul on this ship before I let him try to pry it away again. You will tell him this for me."

Leorio squawks. Stares. Chrollo continues to eat trash. Haha, the guy from an actual landfill literally eats trash. Leorio's life is a fucking joke.

"You tell him! He doesn't talk to me." 

Still doesn't. Bitter pill to swallow. He's over it. Kurapika's callous reaction to Gon was the first real taste of it.

Here they are on this hell-bound ship and he still can't even reply to a damn text.

"Why not?" Chrollo asks, all wide-eyed innocence, before murmuring to himself: "Of course. A Kurta is only capable of severing."

"The Boss gave you an order," Machi drawls. "I suggest you obey."

"No. I'm sick of his vague shit. And he's not my boss. I'm not joining your little fucking gang."

"It's all right. I suppose I'll have to tell him myself."

"I don't like you talking to him. You get too upset."

"I'll be fine, Machi," Chrollo says, and Leorio doesn't like the sudden spike of aura when he says, "There is nothing that Kurta can do to me now."

"Boss -"

"We should sleep," Chrollo says abruptly, and in a flash he's up, still chewing on that damn cup, disappearing into Leorio's own damn room.

"Hey, wait a -" Leorio starts, but the door shuts behind him. "So he's just gonna sleep in my room?" 

Machi grabs him by the jaw and wrenches his head around to face her. Slitted eyes, aura raised like hackles. The shift is too fast for Leorio to process, he's got an arm raised to hit here but some animal self-preservation instinct kicks in. This is not a fight he'll win.

So when Machi hisses something before letting him go it takes a minute for his human mind to kick back in and process.

_Hurt him and I'll fucking end you._

Okay. Fine. Leorio rubs his jaw, wincing. 

Well, there's an upper bunk and a lower. The benefits of being a low-ranking Zodiac. They'll be fine. Machi will perch outside the door like a guard dog and bark if anything happens. And Leorio will just. Go in his room. It's three by six feet and he can't turn around in the bathroom without bumping into himself but they'll manage. Sure. Chrollo's just a little guy. 

Looks even smaller without his coat. 

Leorio shuts the door behind him and clears his throat. 

Chrollo seems to be taking inventory, pulling little things out of his pockets and hmm-ing over them. Knives, weird vials, lumps of dirt, a crumpled plastic waterbottle. Tampons? A collection of pens? 

Just a distraction from the collection of tattoos now on display. Up and down his arms, across his lower back and shoulders, but none on his chest. None where the Spider might see.

Chrollo glances up at him and smiles, a finger to his lips. 

_Shhh._

And puts his coat back on.

Puts his crap back in his pockets, fixes the ties and closes it up to his throat. Turns to Leorio, still smiling, and says, "Is this still too vague for you?'

No. 

Leorio knows exactly what those marks are. First saw them on an emergency briefing passed out among every Hunter on board. They said it was some gang symbol. Some tattoo. Alert security immediately upon sighting. 

A tattoo only nen users can see.

"I spent a long time experimenting with these," Chrollo says idly. "I figure the resulting blast could take out anyone within thirty feet. If I activate two at once, do you think that would double?"

Leorio's voice is thin. "I don't know."

"I intended this for Hisoka. Yet, in his abscence…"

"You have another target in mind."

Another smile, angelic in tenderness. "I don't make idle threats, Leorio. Whatever I do, whatever I say, I want you to know: I mean it. All of it."

"Okay."

"Good. Now try to get some sleep. We still have work to do."

Chrollo claims the lower bunk. Leorio lets him take it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little dub-con-ish, but no sex is happening Chrollo is just Creepin

The Black Whale never sleeps. Leorio’s grown used to waking up: to a brief scuffle in the halls, the staff at work - usually, an emergency summons that leads to rolling out of bed and shotgunning iced coffee

Tonight he wakes to a smothering mass of feathers and Chrollo’s wet breath on his neck. Not cuddling, per se, but he’s thrown his coat over them both and seems intent on smelling Leorio.

“Dude,” Leorio whispers, irate. “Get in your own bunk.”

“Machi’s down there,” Chrollo whispers back. “Shh. Don’t wake her up.” He sniffs again, pressing closer to Leorio’s clavicle, and makes a pleased sound. As if Leorio doesn’t reek like sweat and antiseptic and ramen noodles after the day’s shift. His deodorant gave up the ghost around noon.

Leorio lies stiff as the killer curls closer into him. He’s not an idiot, he knows why Machi keeps giving him death glares while Chrollo stares at him in wonder, but he’d like to repress the fact that a mass murder is interested in him. “Cut it out,” he warns when Chrollo sidles a hand across his hip, but in a flash his phone screen is blinding him.

“What the fuck!”

“Shh.” Chrollo holds the phone to his nose, casting horrible horror-movie shadows on his face. He grins like a ghoul when he finds every one of Leorio’s unanswered texts to Kurapika - but there it is, one reply:

_Is it true? You’re working with the bastard now?_

Typing, typing.

_ANSWER ME._

_WHERE IS CHROLLO._

_WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. ANSWER ME RIGHT THIS MINUTE LEORIO. WHAT HAS HE BEEN SAYING._

“Give me that, give me that,” Leorio hisses, but Chrollo rolls away and leaves Leorio tangled in his stupid fucking coat, types and sends:

**Leorio’s trying to sleep. Can I take a message?**

From the lower bunk, Machi groan as a shrill ringtone breaks the night.

“Give me the fucking -!” but a boot (Christ, he slept in his boots?) hits Leorio in the stomach and sends him over the side and to the floor. Machi’s fully awake now, spitting and grumbling, but in the upper bunk Chrollo says, “Yes, we are sleeping together. Does it bother you?”

Kurapika’s replying scream is incoherent. Leorio throws himself back up, yanking at Chrollo, but an open book and a flick later his hands pass right through Chrollo as he tells Kurapika, “How is my family? You’re following my - now, now, we can’t have a conversation if you’re screaming like that - take a deep breath, Kurapika. No - I don’t think you understand - look, if you have nothing to say regarding my daughter I have nothing to say in return. Leorio’s been very busy. I’ll give him your message. Ah - no you will _not_ -”

“Boss,” Machi pleads. “Give it a rest. It’s three in the morning.”

“I don’t have time to deal with your selfishness,” Chrollo snaps suddenly. “Listen to me well, Kurta. I swear to you, on my blood and my soul: this ship will sink before I let you take what is mine. Good night.”

The book vanishes, the phone turns dark. Chrollo flings it over his head and to the floor and falls limp. Leorio swears, jumps off, but it’s already shattered in pieces on the floor.

“Right.” Machi yawns, rolls off the lower bunk and teeters to the door. “I’m gonna sleep outside. Call if you need anything, Boss.”

Leorio waits until she’s left to start seething, but all Chrollo does is chuckle and wrap him back into bed, smothering him in his coat and casting his aura beneath Leorio’s skin to turn him spineless.

“The Kurta is jealous,” he says, pressing his grin into Leorio’s skin. “Aren’t you glad?”

No, Leorio isn’t. No, he doesn’t like whatever game Chrollo wants to wrap him into. He doesn’t like Chrollo’s lips on his skin, he doesn’t like the lies Chrollo’s told, but before he can say a word the emergency intercom booms, summoning all medical staff to passage 14-5A and they snap back into place again.

An explosion between the third and fourth tiers. Some gang battle or another, they say. On a scrap of burnt corpse Leorio sees it, the mark of the Sun and Moon, and yet he keeps his mouth shut to the questions.


End file.
